Marked
by MythicElf
Summary: Modern!JROTC!AU. The school year has just started, and everyone's off to get their uniforms. Arthur thought he'd hidden his tattoos well, for fear of disdain, but apparently not well enough... GerUK, pure smut.


A/N: so, I'm sorry it's been an eon since I updated Why Not?, but I've been working on a Skyrim story and it's been hogging my attention. But here's something to compensate.

~Preußen~

It's 10:11, the bell for fourth period has just rung, and all Arthur can focus on is the fact that it's _too hot._

Damn the person who thought that starting school while it was still summer was a good idea.

He doesn't care that it's only ten in the morning, that he shouldn't be as tired as he is, because it's only the second week of school and he hasn't gotten re-used to waking up at five in the morning yet. He's been in JROTC for three years now, he's a senior and has scored himself a place on staff; even so, it's bloody _ridiculously_ hot in this classroom and there's no way he'll stay awake, even with first sergeant Jones' animated speech in the front of the room.

They're getting their uniforms today, one at a time; Arthur notices how one student would be gone here, one there. Even so, he isn't prepared in the least when Lieutenant Colonel Williams pops out of bloody _nowhere_ to tap his shoulder. He actually jumps a little, but the colonel doesn't even look offended; he tends to disappear sometimes. Arthur still never sees him coming. Instead the colonel just sends the S-1 up to the supply room.

It's not that far a walk at all, just around the corner and up the hall, past the cafeteria and kitchen, and the slightly open door is across the hall from the loading dock. It's even hotter in the windowless little box, full of fresh dress blues and old sports equipment.

And there's cadet colonel Ludwig Beilschmidt, commander of the Axis battalion. He's in his class B, the left side of his white shirt laden with colorful ribbons. The right side of his shirt, down below the name tag, is riddled with so many arcs that Arthur has to wonder what he does _besides _this class. He's not all that jealous, though; three years in the program has been rather rewarding in that respect, he's got a box full of awards himself, some that Ludwig has, a few that he doesn't. But last year they were still wearing the greens, everyone's required to switch over now that the army has.

"Colonel," he regards coolly, well as coolly as he can when he's sweating his eyebrows off. How in God's name Ludwig can survive in this room, Arthur will never know.

"Lieutenant," comes the equally even reply, and he turns back to the rows of white shirts hung up a little over his head. "What's your size? I forget."

The S-1 wonders if he ever tried to remember in the first place, but pushes it out of his mind; Ludwig was S-4 last year, he's supposed to work with clothes and measurements. So Arthur gives up his numbers and watches as the battalion commander rifles through the racks of clothing to find them. A few moments later he's handing over a full set or dress blues, "Here. Try these."

Now, Arthur's far from the most shy cadet in the Axis battalion. He has no issue taking off his shirt when it's too hot - it doesn't sound like a bad idea at the moment, actually - but changing in front of Ludwig is a different matter entirely. He isn't ashamed of his body or anything, he may not be _buff_, exactly, but he has a nice... uh, figure.

It's the tattoos.

He has tribal stamps and runes inked into his skin, in accordance with his dabbling in occult rituals as of late. Ludwig, the responsible, rule-strict person he undoubtedly is, is likely to disapprove, especially of that one on the back of his neck, that had started with a star and evolved - is still evolving - into a grand artwork down his spine. There's a trail of piercings traveling up his left ear, all from the early summer, so he doesn't have to worry about taking them out for uniform wear. After all, he has a drill team to train, so he has to look presentable.

So he pulls the black skull cap off his head, takes off the black-and-green button up he's wearing. He doesn't bother with the gloves and bands weighing down each of his wrists, since the sleeves of the shirt are short anyway, and he puts the white dress shirt on over his tee. It fits perfectly, and he's slightly impressed. This might actually go without a hitch, and he's relieved, so he turns around to get the jacket off a shelf behind him.

It all goes to hell after that.

"What is that on the back of your neck?" Ludwig asks, and Arthur freezes. Swallows.

"Uh, it's nothing, really, just a little art -" he turns around, plastering a reassuring smile on his face, but it falters when he sees the battalion commander _right there_, "... work."

"Of what?"

"It's mostly stars and tribal prints..." Arthur trails off, hoping that he'll just let it go.

"Let me see it."

No dice.

Ludwig is intrigued, to say the least. He has a sort of... fascination with tattoos, he never could quite get around it. So to find that the S-1 has one - a few - is quite... interesting.

He watches intently as the other boy undoes the dress shirt and pulls off his tee. The tattoo is a wild thing, a mass of curving lines and jutting edges, sinuous swirls and crude angles. There's a trail of odd square-like shapes traveling down his spine - Ludwig supposes they're meant to look like vertebrae - all the way down, disappearing below the waist of his boxers. Beyond that the ink spreads across his shoulders, actually looking like a tribal version of his bone structure, dotted with spots of red and green and little stars and pentagrams. The German is a tad confused about that part, but leaves it alone.

His hands itch to touch the black, red and green marks, and he doesn't stop them. Arthur flinches a little at the first contact, but doesn't otherwise complain when Ludwig's finger traces the inks. It travels up the length of the illustrated spine, the curve in the small of his back and the rise from it, and when it reaches the star on the back of his neck - the initial mark, probably - Arthur coughs around a choked little sound.

With a curious frown Ludwig rubs at it again, wondering what enticed such a reaction, and the S-1 hums out a hoarse, strained, "_Stop."_

... _Oh._

In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea to tattoo a big black star right over his e-zone, but what can he do about it now? He has to admit, he never thought he'd end up in the supply room on (what has to be) the hottest day of the school year, having his ink rubbed by the battalion commander. He has few complaints, it feels _good_, so why not? Except... the soft strokes of his thumbs are slowing, and there's breath on his back, and the wet press of what can only be a _tongue _snakes up his spine. He takes in a breath to ask what the fuck he's doing...

But Ludwig shuts him up fast with a nip at the star.

He bites the word 'what' in half, replacing the others with a gasping little moan, and twitches away from the German's mouth.

"I like your tattoos," Ludwig murmurs, lips close to his ear, "They're very... _tasteful_."

"What do you want?" Arthur whispers, eyes lidded.

Ludwig narrows his eyes, feeling slightly offended, and stands up straight with his hands on his hips. "I'm not trying to _rape _you, Arthur."

"Really? It sure sounds like it." he turns around, leaning back with his elbows on the shelf and one large eyebrow arched. "What exactly _were _you planning on doing, pray tell?"

And he actually _blushes_, across both cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears, because he really has no idea, he just saw ink and jumped at it. Then there are hands on his shoulders, pulling him down over the leaning form of the S-1, and he just goes, slightly confused until a warm mouth meets his own. The kiss is soft, but there's an undertone of need that quickens their movements. Arthur's fingers move up from his shoulders, carding through the blond hair he had so meticulously brushed back, and down behind his ears.

_"Scheiße,"_ Ludwig curses against the other's lips, feeling a surge of blood rush southward; Arthur chuckles - _found it _- deepens the kiss, and rubs more fervently at the warm skin behind his ears. He isn't surprised when the commander presses his hips down against his own, but lets out a soft moan anyway. The friction is bloody _amazing_, he needs more, and he can't stop the little hitch his breath gives when Ludwig abandons the kiss, leaning down to suck on the side of his neck and scratching at that star.

Arthur is appalled at Ludwig, at this dignified, decorated cadet who is, at the moment, blindly seacrhing for the fly of his jeans; he finds it quickly, yanks it down and reaches for the warm, firm flesh inside. The shorter blonde moans, brings a leg up and hitches it around the commander's hip. Ludwig strokes his member swiftly, deftly, his other hand leaving the smooth skin on the back of the S-1's neck in favor of his shoulder, to hold him up.

Ludwig is entirely unable to form an opinion of the boy between he and the wall, arching up against him as his hand began to pull the uniform's belt open. Arthur's been presented as a proper, organized, gentlemanly type of person, but that was to be expected; every time they met it was under the strict, formal regulation of a JROTC setting. But he's never before seen the shorter blonde with his three earrings in, one stretched enough to bear a curved spike, or his hands and wrists bearing fingerless gloves and countless bands and bracelets. Even if he had, he still wouldn't have been prepared for _this_, having Arthur pressed between him and the shelves, sucking a hickey into the side of his neck and grinding hips into each other's fists.

And that tattoo... he's right, it is a work of art. Ludwig finds the mass of swirling lines and dots of color gorgeous, and it's not a word he uses very often. He rather appreciated the feel of the ink under his tongue, and suddenly he wants to taste it again. "Turn around."

And Arthur feels a trickle of fear run down his spine. This is too much.

"I... Mm... Ludwig, I don't want to -" he breaks off, the beginning of an 'f' dying on his lips when the commander shakes his head.

"Not for that."

So Arthur turns around, but he's still looking over his shoulder as if he doesn't trust Ludwig. The taller blonde takes him by the elbows, bending him over slightly; the Brit stiffens, and Ludwig realizes that this must seem bad, but rectifies the situation when he presses his tongue to the warm skin at the small of his back. The S-1 sucks in a soft gasp, squirming a little as the wet muscle slides further up his spine. Ludwig hums in appreciation for the minuscule ridges and raised areas; each subtle change against his tongue is different. His skin is salty with sweat - surely from the heat in the supply room, let alone the school itself - and the commander laps at it, traveling higher along the shorter's backbone until his nose is pressed against the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Arthur's ready to smack him.

The git knows exactly where the star is, and what it does, but he licks _around _it! The Brit's close, he can feel it; if Ludwig would just touch _there_...

"What's wrong?" the taller blonde teases, lips brushing against the star with each words just because he feels like being an ass today.

"Stop it, prat," Arthur grits out, wanting to free at least one arm so he can touch himself. He jerks one of the elbows in the commander's grip just to make his point.

Ludwig thinks it over. "Mm, fine." he releases one of the Brit's arms, but uses the other as leverage to bend him over further. "But I do so enjoy making you squirm."

"I can tell," his tone attempts dryness, but it's hard to keep the waver out of his voice when he finally wraps a hand around his member. With each stroke heat comes curling up his spine, like smoke from a stick of incense, and he sighs at the feeling of Ludwig against his back as his impending climax nears.

Ludwig does the same, but with more urgency than the S-1; he's close, much closer than the Arthur, and his ears are still tingling from his touch. His fist bumps against the shorter's ass with each stroke, drawing him closer to climax, and fire falls heavily into the pit of his stomach. He's right on the edge - just a _little further -_ the fire grows, gets heavier, falls lower in his abdomen. His strokes are faster, more frantic against the other blonde's backside, and when it finally overtakes his body he sinks his teeth into the back of Arthur's neck to keep from moaning out loud.

Arthur's eyes fly open.

Lightning flies down his spine, igniting the nerves through his entire body, and it's all he can to to yank his other hand from Ludwig's grip so he can sink his teeth into the palm of his hand as he comes. It doesn't do much, he still moans so loud that the sound fills the room.

They're both spent, hips twitching lightly with afterglow, lungs working overtime to catch a bit of air. Ludwig recovers first, reaching up for one of the spare T-shirts to clean them up. He'd tried not to, but he came on the back of Arthur's pants a little; the Brit doesn't object when he starts to clean the spend from him, doesn't respond at all, really. Must've been the star.

Ludwig feels a little smug for that.

After Arthur recovers, helps clean up the evidence of their being there, puts his shirt back on, the bell rings to announce the end of fourth period. He scurries out of the supply room, trying to hide the hickey under the collar of his shirt.

It takes him until the middle of lunch to realize that he never even got his uniform.

At least he's awake now.

...

A/N: hehehehehe... Yeah, I dunno why. It just _happened_. *sweatdrop* well, I actually like my little Iggster, I might keep him. So there may be a sequel to this :3


End file.
